Feb 22

Britney, Michelle, Stephanie, and I decided to meet Michelle's roommate, Ben, at the New York Club on Friday night, since Ben's friend had organized a party there and we were on the list - or so we thought. Unfortunately, the snobby French bouncer decided there was no more list, and, eyeing us critically, decided we could not enter the club. Instead, he let Ben - the sole guy - in by himself! In the US (and usually Paris), a group of girls is virtually guaranteed entrance into any nightspot. We determined that the sole possible reason was that we were Americans, while Ben was French. Thus, we decided to venture to another club instead, an Australian bar playing early 90s American pop and filled to the brim with rowdy party-goers, where we decided to have fun anyway!

The next day, Brit, Michelle, Steph and I went to a fondue restaurant in Montmartre with Michelle's French friend, Sebastien (Sebastien used to work for the same agency Michelle does now). Sebastien brought his girlfriend, who we affectionately dubbed "The Finn" due to her Finnish heritage. This wasn't any fondue restaurant: it possessed only two tables that went wall-to-wall, so that the waiters were required to practically catapult Michelle (and any other patrons having the misfortune of sitting on the table's opposite side) over the table with a chair! Then, for 17 euros, we were treated to a glass of wine, appetizers, fondue, dessert, and yet another wine, this time served in a "biberon," or baby bottle (I hear it's to get around the wine glass-tax law?) The restaurant was quite fun and cozy due to our close proximity to the other diners, whom we quickly befriended. Interestingly enough, we were seated next to a French guy who looked exactly like Simon Camden from 7th Heaven. Even more hilarious: his French compatriots knew he looked like Simon, and knew the show and theme song.

On Sunday, despite our fatigue, we finally met the 4th girl from our Craigslist apartment search, Marjorie. She took us to a great falafel place in the Marais, where we stuffed our faces to our hearts' content, and then went to see "Ce Que Pensent Les Hommes" -  also known as "He's Just Not that Into You" - direct translation - "What Men Think." In France, popcorn is sold both sweet and salted, and I was quite delighted to have a mainstream movie theater vindicate my sugared-popcorn addiction. After only a tiny bit of cajoling, I was able to get the Champs-Elysees concession-stand worker to mix both salty and sweet popcorn in one container, to create what will now be my signature French popcorn.

Feb 14-15: Let me get this straight - I'm staying with two Jews in a Christian hostel in Amsterdam?

Brittany, Michelle and I ironically fled the City of Love on Valentine's Day weekend for a verifiably less-romantic locale: Amsterdam! The girl who almost missed her flight from Barcelona back to Paris three years ago after attempting to cram in *one* - (OK, two!) - last powdered Spanish croissants at the Barcelona airport managed to maintain this reputation by contributing to missing a non-refundable, nontransferable 8 am flight to Amsterdam. Fortunately, said girl (and Brittany and Michelle) was able to convince the (necessarily non-Parisian) airline ticket agent to book a later flight for free. Just a guess, but the ticket agent might have been moved by the looked of shocked, paralyzed horror on our faces after being informed that our generous' self-allotment of 30 minutes to both check luggage and go through security was not standard airline protocol (they close the gate 30 minutes ahead of time). We will never again take advice from notoriously-tardy Parisians, specifically Michelle's roommate, Ben, who advised us gullibles that "30 minutes is really all one needs for a European flight." 

Thus, we arrived in Amsterdam slightly later than anticipated, yet just in time to check into our "home" for the next two days: the "Shelter City Hostel," a Christian hostel (paradoxically? . . . conveniently?) located in the heart of Amsterdam's notorious Red-Light District. This sounds hilarious; let me explain. We had coordinated our trip with Brittany's college friend, Kim, who, being very Christian, had already booked the hostel. La seule problème: Michelle and Brittany are both Jewish. This (ironic) realization had prompted this earlier, side-splitting comment two days before: "Let me get this straight: I'm going to stay in a Christian hostel with two Jews in Amsterdam?" Yes, yes, of course. And it didn't turn out to be a problème, after all: Britt and Michelle could not complain about the free "extras:" a pamphlet on the New Testament at check-in; a Christian video montage at breakfast. 

Upon arrival, we went to an open-air market, bought some Dutch gouda, and walked around fulfilling our culinary fantasies: okay, MY culinary fantasy. Don't think "haute cuisine:" fries dipped in just about any other condiment besides ketchup (think mayonnaise) is my Nirvana. Apparently it is standard practice for Dutch frites to come with an assortment of one, two, or even three other complementary condiments: I became extremely excited and ordered frites with mayonnaise and peanut sauce. It sounds disgusting: it was FABULOUS. I understand that waxing poetic about a American staple makes one sound very philistine-ish, but I love other countries' ability to take something Americans think they "know" and make it exciting and new just by virtue of its presentation. Okay, and I just really, really love a restaurant that can vindicate my "mayonnaise-and-fries" addiction.

We finally settled into a pub touting itself "the Smallest Pub in Town" for a 6 p.m. aperatif. We would stay there until almost 2 a.m., hanging out with the witty and warm bartender, Sara, who kept the 60s, 70s, and 80s hits playing; the sweetest Danish boy, Stephen, who told us we were "the nicest and most beautiful people he had ever met" - remind me again why I'm studying in France and not Denmark?; the Liverpool-native but Amsterdam-residing local drunk, Darren, who, in his intoxicated state, gave us all roses for Valentine's Day; several pilots en route to exotic locales; an old dancing Dutch man who habitually attempted to set up Michelle, Brittany and me with the sweet Danish boy; and many, many more! We managed to return back just in time for the Christian hostel's 2 a.m. curfew. =)

The next morning, we were treated to the aforementioned French toast and Christian video montage. We spent the afternoon sightseeing: first, the Van Gogh museum, which was exhibiting the original Starry Night painting; next, the house where Anne Frank hid and wrote her diary. I was extremely excited as I've wanted to visit the "secret annex" since I read her diary as a child. It was very moving, as it had been transformed into a memorial for Holocaust victims. Finally, excited by Amsterdam's surprisingly diverse selection of ethnic cuisine, we dined at an Argentinian restaurant. Luckily we made our flight home - by 5 minutes!